


For What It's Worth

by SarahJeanne



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Bondage, D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahJeanne/pseuds/SarahJeanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them really notice it's happening, until it has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For What It's Worth

**Author's Note:**

> Major, major, major thanks go out to pjvilar for sticking with me on this since March. I don't even know how many drafts she looked at, but it was a lot. Not to mention the chats and emails on back story, character motivations, and plot. This would not be, without her. And major props to meeks00 for bringing a fresh pair of eyes to this and providing many comments, both constructive and encouraging, and bringing about the last bits of clarity.

The Afghani Mountains were really fucking cold, but God bless the United States Marine Corps and their space age sleeping bags. When Ray burrowed down in his, he started to feel his fingers and toes again, burning as the blood rushed back in. Combined with the mats they had for under their sleeping bags, meaning the rocks digging into his back were dampened by an inch and a half of foam, Ray was almost comfortable. Until something was dropped onto his knee, pulling him out of the almost-sleep he was floating in. He cracked open one eye and saw a pile of radio equipment on the ground next to his sleeping bag.

"What the fuck?" He rolled onto his back and looked up. Some sergeant was looming over him; the fucker didn't even have his jacket zipped up, the "ert" on the end of his name patch visible where it hung open. Didn't he realize it was negative a hundred and eleven out there?

"I'm told you might be able to unfuck this. They won't talk to each other."

Ray sat up and stared at him. "Okay," he said, half a question. Sergeant Annoying nodded at him and walked out of the tent.

Ray turned to Jim in the rack next to his. His head was poking out of his sleeping bad and he looked far too amused at Ray's nap being interrupted. Ray scowled at him. "Was that-"

"Brad Colbert?" Jim finished. "Yup. You know it's him when you start to feel like you're bothering someone by existing."

Ray started to sort through the pile of electronics. Someone had eviscerated these radios. "I was starting to think he didn't really exist and was just some mythic figure made up by all the Recon schools to make everyone else look bad."

"That's just 'cause you don't see the Iceman unless he wants you to see him." Jim's voice was muffled. Ray glanced to the side and saw that he'd zipped his head back into his sleeping bag. "He's a fierce motherfucker."

"Yeah, yeah." Ray rolled his eyes. "Brad Colbert scales mountains with a broken back while breathing life back into dead puppies. He could have at least let me sleep before he dumped this cluster fuck into my lap." Ray held up a wire that looked like it had been chewed on. "What the fuck happened to this?"

  


It took a couple of hours, and he lost the feeling in his fingers again, but Ray got the radios working, possibly for the first time. He found Brad stretched out in his tent and very deliberately placed the radios in front of Brad. He did his best to use his position standing over Brad to his advantage, but even lying down Brad exuded authority.

"Do me a favor." Ray locked eyes with Brad. "Don't let whoever did that ever touch them again."

Brad sighed. "For some reason my RTO thinks it's his job to play with the radios."

Ray looked at Brad in disbelief. "Your RTO did that? Jesus. You realize one of the encryption codes he had set was 'three'? Nothing else--just 'three'. Does he think this is Sesame Street or something? 'This war is brought to you by the number three'? What a fucking moron. I hope you never find yourself needing radios in combat or we all might find out that the mighty Brad Colbert isn't so invincible after all."

Brad's lips twitched into a tiny half smile. "Thank you, Lance Corporal."

Ray decided to take the look on his face as a win. "Any time, homes," he called, getting out of there while he was still ahead.

  


Ray was sprawled on the ground, his cover on top of his face blocking the sun from his eyes. He dug one hand into the sand, gathering a handful and letting the dust run through his fingers. He held a bag of Skittles in his other hand wondering how long it would take until they congealed into one, giant misshapen Skittle. He was warm for the first time in days and was starting to be lulled by the mortar fire that periodically hit somewhere outside the walls of the camp.

Unfamiliar footsteps approaching pulled him out of his trance and he pulled his cover halfway off his eyes. He squinted against the sun, watching as Brad Colbert sat next to him and pulled the Skittles right out of his grasp.

"Don't eat the yellow ones, I'm saving them."

Brad looked at Ray with one eyebrow raised. He shook a few Skittles into his hand and dumped them into his mouth, yellow included. "Why?"

Ray sat up and grabbed the bag back. "I'm going to make lemon meringue pie with pound cake and creamer packets."

Brad looked at him like he was some sort of particularly offensive bug. "That is one of the most retarded things I have ever heard."

"Hey," Ray said, defensive, "it passes the time and is occasionally delicious. Well, comparatively delicious."

Brad nodded dismissively, looking entirely unconvinced.

"Don't judge it 'til you've had it," Ray said. "I'll bring you a piece when it's done."

"Please don't." He stood, and Ray followed suit, partially in an attempt to even out the height differential, partially to avoid looking directly into the sun.

Brad looked out into the distance over Ray's shoulder "I just wanted to-- we went out after you fixed those radios and it, well, it would have been bad without them. So," he looked at Ray, "thank you."

Ray nodded.

"You headed home soon?" Brad asked.

"If I had that sort of information, I would have a big fucking countdown calendar tattooed across my chest."

Brad's mouth formed that half smile again. "I guess I'll see you around, then."

"Guess so." Ray settled back down on to the ground as Brad walked off. He shouted after him. "And I'm still going to bring you some of that pie."

  


After a couple months of kissing ass, Ray finally got promoted and was reassigned to Bravo Company, second platoon, as Corporal Person. The platoon consisted of Brad, five other guys, and a lieutenant that probably couldn't find his way to the chow hall without a breadcrumb trail to follow. Most of his first week was spent running PT drills. Apparently they were training for a marathon, not a war.

He was making his escape back to the barracks on Friday afternoon when Brad spoke.

"I'm going running when I get home. You should come." Ray looked at Brad, who kept cataloguing ammunition even as he turned his eyes to Ray, challenge written all over his face.

Ray was pretty sure he'd gotten five new blisters over the past three days. "Seriously? You're going running?"

Brad continued to stare him down. "I go running every night."

Rave gave. "Of course you do. Where?"

Brad took a scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Ray. It had an address scrawled on it. "That's my apartment. Half an hour."

Ray took it and headed out to change and pop his blisters. He rolled his eyes as he went. "Sadistic motherfucker," he mumbled under his breath.

  


They ran in silence for a mile and a half, Ray taking two steps for every one of Brad's, before Brad started the interrogation. "So you're from Missouri?"

"Born and raised."

"What the fuck is even in Missouri? Farms and trailer parks?"

"Hey." Ray paused for a breath. "We have Kansas City and Saint Louis. You may have heard of it. It has this really big arch."

"And did you live near either of those islands of civilization?"

"Hell, no. I'm from Nevada."

They took a corner, and Brad fucking sped up out of it. Ray took a few extra steps to get even with him again.

Brad looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "More cows than people?"

"We have a super Wal-Mart and an airport with two whole runways. You have to go a few miles outside town if you want cows."

Brad turned his head toward Ray and raised one eyebrow. "And I'm sure you know exactly where all the cows are."

Ray grinned at him. "Gotta have date night somewhere."

Once they moved on from the subject of cow fucking, Ray panted out answers for six miles. When they got back to Brad's apartment, Ray put on an extra burst of speed, reaching the patch of grass out front a few seconds ahead of Brad, before sinking to the ground. He tried to at least look like he was stretching; mostly, he was sitting.

"When you're finished napping on my lawn, feel free to come up for a beer. We can order pizza." He eyed Ray's soaked t-shirt pointedly. "You can use my shower when I'm done. Please refrain from touching the furniture until then."

"Sounds good," Ray said, lying back in the grass until Brad yelled out the window for him to get off his ass.

  


Friday night running and beer became a weekly thing, though when they finally had an actual, whole platoon (not to mention a new lieutenant who seemed to understand the difference between "Recon Marines" and "high school gym students"), Ray dragged Brad out to celebrate with the whole group.

"You only have to pretend to enjoy yourself for the first half-hour. After that you can be as miserable as you want."

They pushed three tables together, taking over a whole corner of the bar. Brad sat in the corner, sipping his beer and watching Manimal get ignored by girl after girl. Ray moved around the tables, inserting himself into each conversation he came across. When he got within Brad's reach, he felt a hand on his arm pulling him into a seat.

"Will you sit down for a minute, Ray? You're giving me a headache."

"Well, you're bumming me out. The point of this trip was to socialize, not hide in the corner."

"I am socializing. I was just telling young Christopher here about the best places to find a whore on three different continents."

"There's something good about a relationship, though. Right? Not having to pay for it, and having her always be there," Christopher said.

"You ever even fuck a girl with out paying for it, Brad?" Poke asked, grin on his face.

Brad smiled down at the table and finished his drink.

  


It didn't take that much longer for Ray to end up at Brad's apartment, for the purpose of consuming something other than "this pansy-ass watered-down beer." By the time they had downed half a bottle of Jim Beam between them, Ray was thoroughly trashed.

He was lying on Brad's couch, the side of his face mashed to into the cushion and one arm dangling on the floor, enjoying the feeling of not caring about anything when Brad said, "I was engaged once."

It took Ray a solid two minutes to figure out what the fuck Brad was talking about, that he was responding to the question Poke had jokingly asked hours ago. Brad had a habit of letting small personal details slip into the conversation after a beer or two, though whether that was _because_ of the alcohol or just a convenient excuse, Ray hadn't decided yet. But he couldn't believe Brad was drunk enough to be answering that question in this way.

He tried to get excited about following Brad's train of thought, but when he lifted his head an inch off the couch, the room started to spin. He settled for mumbling, "What happened?" He accidentally licked a piece of Brad's couch as he spoke.

"We were together for seven years."

Ray managed to at least move his eyes, and he found Brad sitting on the floor on the other side of the room, leaning against a chair and looking at the ceiling.

"We used to go jet skiing. And I was going to teach her to mountain climb."

Ray started to rock his head from side to side, as best he could with the couch repeatedly getting in the way. The room danced around him with each tip of his head. It made Brad's story seem like it wasn't really happening, like Ray was making up the whole night. It was fitting; who would leave _Brad_?

"Now she's married to my best friend, to the person who _was_ my best friend." Ray's indignation came out as a half-hearted grunt. "Do you know, I actually got a joint-written Dear John letter from them while I was at Ranger School?"

Ray stopped moving his head around and turned to face Brad. "What did you do?"

Brad avoided his gaze, staring into the wall. "I ran faster, fought harder. I put all the energy I was wasting on them into my work."

Ray let his head drop back to the cushion. "You really should try it sometime, though."

"Try what?"

"Getting pussy without paying for it. If you go to the right bar it comes with the same emotional detachment, but it's a bargain at the price of one Cosmo."

Even with half of his face in the couch, Ray could see Brad looking at him with one eyebrow raised, mostly amused. "Should you really be taking any chance of passing on the genes of someone who thinks a Cosmo is an appropriate drink?"

Ray ignored him. "I'll even come with you as your wingman. You're going to need it."

Brad huffed and they lapsed into silence. Finally, Ray gathered enough strength to sit up on the couch. The whole room moved about three feet to the left and he slid right back down. "I'm not going anywhere, homes. Especially not tonight. In fact, I may never leave this couch." He curled onto his side and closed his eyes.

"You're like a stray dog that followed me home and won't get off the furniture."

Ray started; Brad's voice was much closer than it had been previously. He cracked open an eye. Brad had gotten off the floor and was now looming over him. "Hey, don't soil my good name. _You_ brought me here. You practically _ordered_ me here the first time."

"I suppose I did." One side of Brad's mouth quirked up. "And you came."

  


"Gentlemen." Ray stood up by the Mark 19, waving his cell phone in the air. "Hey, that's pansies too," he added when he didn't get Trombley's attention right away, and fuck if that didn't get him to look right up.

"I have just been notified that the shipment of antennas and the associate wiring have been delivered to my door. Starting tomorrow, none of you will have to worry about going for more than five minutes without hearing my lovely voice. I don't wanna hear y'all jacking off at the thought of it, though, so make sure you know which button not to press."

"Fuck," Poke said, "it's one of my worst nightmares come true."

Brad smiled wide at the prospect of new toys to play with, which should have been a warning sign right there, but it wasn't until Brad had actually followed him across base to the barracks that Ray realized there was going to be a problem.

Once he had the package, he hesitated.

"Are we going to go open it or are you just going to pleasure it in the hallway?" Brad asked.

Ray abruptly stopped his unconscious stroking of the package. "Here's the thing, Brad. Since you could be described as above me in the chain of command, I'm thinking it's best if you don't come in my room right now."

The eager smile on Brad's face turned into resignation mixed with annoyance. "What did you do?"

"Don't look so serious, Brad. It's not like I keep my dead bodies in there. It's just not quite up to regulation."

Ray could practically see Brad refrain from rolling his eyes. "I actually have better things to do with my time than write you up for having laundry on the floor. Can we just go open the damn package?"

"So you're not gonna write me up?" Ray grinned at him, hopefully.

"Ray," Brad sighed.

"Okay then," Ray said, and opened his door.

Brad took one step forward and stopped in the doorway. "What the fuck, Ray?" He took in the crap that littered the room. Aside from the predicted laundry, there were torn open and partially consumed MREs, the remnants of a couple meals from McDonald's, including a Happy Meal toy, and furniture pushed into the middle of the room in no particular order. "Wasn't the Gunny in here _three days_ ago? What the hell did you do to this place in three days?"

"I'm practicing, Brad. They've got new MREs since we were in Afghanistan. When we get sent to Iraq I want to know exactly what I'm getting into and all the improvements I can make."

"I fail to see how even your culinary skills would necessitate a pile of furniture in the middle of the room."

"There may have been an incident with a hamster, but that was really more Q-Tip's fault than--"

Brad held up his hand. "I'm begging you to not finish that sentence." He looked around the room once more and took the package from Ray. "This place is unbecoming of humans, never mind a Marine. No toys until you fix it."

"Come on, Brad. It'll get done. I've been waiting for that stuff for a week and a half now." He was practically whining.

"Not a chance," Brad said. Ray mumbled something under his breath. The light-heartedness left Brad's voice. "What was that, Corporal?" he snapped.

Ray sharply turned his head up to Brad. "I said, 'make me,' _Sergeant_." Something flickered across Brad's face, but before he could read the expression, Brad had schooled his features into his best Iceman.

Brad picked up a duffle bag that was almost on the side of the room and dumped its contents onto the floor. "Here." He handed it to Ray. "I just got you a trash bag. Start by picking up your shit, then you can move furniture." Ray glared at the bag in his hands, then up at Brad, silently asking if he was serious. "Move." Brad reached out and shoved Ray in the direction of the worst of it. Ray stumbled for a step but then began filling the bag. He could feel the imprints of Brad's hands on his back.

Brad dragged a chair out of the pile and sat in it, tucking the box safely underneath. Ray glanced out of the corner of his eye as he worked. Brad just sat there watching him, almost studying him. After he dumped the last of the trash by the door, Brad got up and helped him drag the furniture back into some semblance of order.

He slid his bed into the corner with a satisfying thump and turned around to see Brad holding out the package. "Good Marine." Brad was grinning. "Have a treat."

Ray grabbed the package. "Jesus fucking Christ, Brad. You really do think of me as your dog. Is there some sort of sick, twisted fantasy I should know about?"

"There's one where I put a muzzle on you and manage to have a half hour of uninterrupted peace and quiet. I wouldn't call it sick and twisted though. More like the American Dream."

Ray hopped up on the bed with the box on his lap. He patted the spot next to him for Brad to sit and started tearing the tape off.

"Your life would be dull without my dulcet tones providing color commentary, and you know it."

Brad knocked his hand aside and reached into the box to pull out a plastic bag full of wires. He didn't say anything though. Ray chose to take that as agreement.

The evening continued with beer and plenty of squabbles over who got to attach which piece of the antennas. Brad left for home, completely sober, while Ray, tipsy, barely lifted his head to say goodbye from where he was sprawled out on his bed. Everything was completely normal. Until Ray jacked off before bed and Brad's face, watching him as he cleaned his room, popped into his head as he came.

  


Team One was first back from the training mission, giving Ray two desks to choose from when he walked into the Team Leader's office after checking in his gear. He dropped into the chair closer to Brad. "Man, I want an office like this, with an air conditioner that works and one of these bitchin' chairs. Ergonomic or some shit like that. How many more dicks to I have to suck to get promoted to sergeant?"

Brad didn't take his eyes off his computer screen, but Ray saw his lips twitch. "It's really more about quality than quantity at this level, Ray. You'll want to go down to the farm for some practice first."

"Like an officer would notice the difference." Ray scoffed. He pushed off from the desk and started spinning around in his chair. "Do you guys have, like, whole days where you do nothing but spin around in your chairs? Because my ambition to become a team leader just got a lot stronger if that's the case."

Brad reached out with one hand and grabbed the arm of Ray's chair, stilling it. "If you'd like to play on the merry-go-round, I'm sure there are a few playgrounds around that are just full of small children to terrify."

"Small children love me, homes. And dogs. Cats not so much."

Brad went back to typing. "It must be that they see so much of themselves in you," he said dryly. "Can you find a corner in which to busy yourself while I do actual work? Maybe something shiny too look at?"

"We get back from the field and you come in here and immediately hunch yourself over your computer? You did not smoke nearly enough weed in high school. At least take a minute to enjoy the fact that we have air conditioning again."

" _Ray_."

"Come on, spin once," Ray stuck out his foot and nudged the edge of Brad's chair, which didn't do much since Brad's feet were planted on the floor. "I promise it won't kill you."

Brad was out of his chair and had Ray pinned to the desk before he knew what was happening.

Ray could have gotten up. He could have rolled to the side and kicked Brad's feet out from under him.

He didn't try.

It was easier--it was _better_ \--to stay folded up under Brad. To feel one of Brad's hands wrapped around his wrist and the other pressing down on his neck.

Brad picked up his hand and took a step back abruptly.

Ray pushed back from the table and leaned back in his chair. He looked up at Brad, whose eyes were on the obvious bulge at Ray's crotch. He felt himself get harder with Brad's eyes on him.

Brad turned away and sat back down at his desk, eyes trained on his computer screen, though he appeared to be looking through it, not at it. "You can go."

Ray stood up and jammed his hands in his pockets. He left quietly and headed straight to the bathroom where he waited for his hard-on to subside and tried not to think about Brad forcing him down.

  


"Ray," Brad yelled. "Where the fuck are you? I want to go home." Without forty other guys to suck up the noise, or make their own, Brad's voice bounced around their improvised motor pool. Ray tried to follow it with his head, but it was difficult with the way he was crammed under the dashboard of Rudy's Humvee.

"Team two," Ray yelled back, his voice muffled. He pulled himself out and got to his feet. He shifted his weight from foot to foot excitedly and looked around at the parts scattered on the ground. "I have, like, 15 more pieces, or something, to put back before I'm done," he yelled.

Brad appeared from around the Humvee. Ray jumped. "Stop appearing out of nowhere, okay? It's fucking creepy."

Brad ignored him and stared at the collection of parts. "What the hell did you do to their vehicle, Ray? Like it wasn't enough of a piece of crap before."

"Brad, I'm _fixing_ it. I was trying to get their antenna set up, but the wire wasn't threading through the right way. So I started taking shit apart. I got it in right, but I might have disconnected something to do with the turn signals. But what do we need turn signals for anyway? They realize this is for a war, right? The whole idea is to not let the enemy know what you're going to do. But anyway--"

"Ray." Brad held up a hand to stop him. "Just put in the antenna and be done with it. And calm down. You're acting like one of those yippy little dogs."

Ray shoved his hands into Brad's face. They were shaking. "Dude, Gabe gave me, like, five Red Bulls at lunch. I couldn't calm down if you dangled hookers and booze in front of me as a reward."

Brad lowered Ray's arms, wrapped his hands around Ray's wrists, and held them together. He looked Ray in the eyes. "Try."

Ray held his gaze. "Oh, _now_ we're back to the kinky shit. Man, I knew you wouldn't hold out for long, longer than a day and a half, I thought, but still--"

"There's nothing kinky about stopping you from shoving your weird vibrating hands into my face."

Ray raised his eyebrows. "Are you fucking serious?"

Brad spun Ray around and pinned him against the Humvee, managing to trap Ray's arms between them in the process.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. " Ray thrust his ass back against Brad's dick that was hardening against him. "Still think you can say there's nothing kinky about this with a straight face, Brad?"

"This might be closer to kinky shit." Brad whispered right into his ear when he spoke. "But you still need to calm the fuck down." Brad put one of his hands on the back of Ray's head, forcing his forehead against the side of the Humvee.

Ray moved his hips again, trying to get friction for his dick and rub up against Brad at the same time.

" _Ray_." Brad leaned all of his weight against Ray, giving him no more room to move. "Are you done?"

Ray gave, going limp against Brad, even as he could feel his heart beating against his chest. He panted against the Humvee.

"That's better," Brad said. He stepped away from Ray, his hand lingering on Ray's head as he did so. Ray turned around and looked at Brad. Brad's pupils were dilated, and he looked rumpled and off balance. Ray was sure he looked the same. Brad broke the eye contact, looking into the distance off to the side.

"No more fucking around with the Humvee. And clean this up before you leave." He paused. "I have to go."

"Brad," Ray started.

Brad cut him off. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, without bothering to turn around. His voice echoed in the empty space.

Ray waited until the door closed behind Brad to fall back against the Humvee. "Well that was really fucked up," he mumbled as he stuck his hand down the front of his pants and jacked off, coming all over his trousers.

  


When Friday night rolled around, part of Ray wanted to cancel his usual plans with Brad. The other part, the one that was getting much harder to ignore, really didn't. A bunch of the guys were going to a bar, so Ray took the pussy's way out and told Brad they were going out with them.

Everything was all fucked up lately, so in a way it made perfect sense that Ray ended up sitting in a corner, while Brad walked around and talked to people.

When Ray saw him looming over a girl, his skin started to prickle. He was walking toward them before he even thought about what he was doing. The girl was leaning against the wall with her head tipped back and neck exposed. Brad had propped himself up with his hand next to the girl's head and had his head bent down next to hers. Ray pulled Brad's arm out of the way and inserted himself in between the two of them. "Hey, Brad, making friends?"

Brad looked over Ray's head at the girl. "I'd like to take the opportunity to apologize for whatever he says."

"Now, now, Bradley. Would your pal Ray-Ray ever say anything to embarrass you?" The look Brad shot him clearly said, _yes_. Ray turned to the girl. "I'm Ray, and the fuck-ups in the corner are the rest of our fine platoon, and we just couldn't be happier than to see you and our Brad getting along so swimmingly."

She looked from Brad to him, seemingly torn between the desire to laugh or run away. "I'm Lisa," she said, finally, a bemused smile on her face.

"Lisa," Ray repeated. "I like the sound of you. I'm going to go get us some more drinks, Lisa, and when I come back I'll have decided on my top three Brad stories to tell you."

Ray marched toward the bar and ordered two Coronas and a Cosmo. He handed off the beers to Lisa and Brad when he got back and made sure he had Brad's eyes on him before he took a sip of the sticky pink drink. He grimaced at the taste, but he didn't miss the way Brad swallowed reflexively as Ray did.

Brad took a gulp of his beer. He turned to look at Lisa. "We have to go," he said. "Sorry." He looked back at Ray. "Come on," he ordered, and headed straight for the door.

Ray followed without bothering to look back at Lisa. As soon as they were outside, Brad grabbed his arm and steered them in the direction of Ray's car. When they got there he held his hand out for the keys before gently shoving Ray in the direction of the passenger seat.

Ray got in without complaint until Brad pulled out of the parking lot, tires screeching. "Uh, Brad, not that I would ever question your infinite wisdom, but--"

"You're not talking right now, Ray," Brad said. He took off down the street, and Ray shut up as the speed pushed him into his seat.

When they got to Brad's apartment, Ray managed to at least get out of the car on his own and adjust himself where his dick was starting to strain against his jeans before Brad manhandled him inside.

"I'm assuming that was an offer," Brad stated. Ray nodded once, businesslike. "Knees," Brad commanded. Ray complied immediately and, since he was there anyway, sent up a quick prayer of thanks that Brad had moved off base. Ray watched as Brad worked his jeans open, pulled out his dick, and stroked it the rest of the way hard.

Ray didn't wait for Brad's order, just leaned forward and sucked Brad's dick into his mouth until he gagged. He tried to pull back, but Brad's hands settled on his head, keeping him in place. He was completely hard now, and he could feel his pants getting wet from pre-come that was leaking out. While he struggled to fight his gag reflex without moving, he brought his hand down and rubbed his palm across his crotch. His whole body felt like it was on fire, radiating out from the pit of his stomach. He shuddered and whimpered around Brad's cock as he came in his pants.

He stopped sucking and let Brad's cock sit heavy on his tongue, breathing hard around it. He kept palming at his crotch as his cock softened. Brad pulled Ray back, one hand still firmly entrenched in Ray's hair, and looked down at the wet stain spreading across Ray's jeans. "Did you just _come_ when you had a job you were supposed to be doing? Jesus. Mind on your work, Ray." Brad sounded like they were on a fucking training exercise.

Brad guided Ray back to his cock. Ray wrapped his hand around the base and stroked up and down Brad's cock while he licked and sucked at the head. He really didn't have any idea what he was doing, but on his knees, in front of _Brad_ , he gave it all he had.

When Ray had his mouth between some girl's legs, she usually moaned or something to let him know he was on the right track. Brad, typically, was silent. When he looked up at Brad's face, best he could now that his nose was being shoved into Brad's pelvis while he licked at Brad's balls, he saw nothing more than the Iceman at his finest: dispassionate and detached.

"I had plans to fuck something tonight, Ray. What I was going to fuck changed rather abruptly to be your whiskey-tango mouth, but I'll make do." Brad pulled Ray back by the hair and started fucking into his mouth. Ray would have fallen to the floor if it weren't for Brad holding him as each snap of Brad's hips shoved his cock into the roof of Ray's mouth.

Ray tipped his head and tried to adjust his increasingly sore jaw and suddenly Brad was sliding right down his throat. "Fuck. Just like that, Ray," Brad said, panting. If Ray's mouth hadn't been occupied, he would have smirked at finally getting a reaction.

A few more snaps of his hips and Ray started to cough as Brad came down his throat. "Fuck, Ray," Brad whispered, before he pulled back and finished spurting across Ray's face.

"Fuck," Ray said, slumping the rest of the way to the floor. He knees ached as he extended them, his crotch was wet and sticky from his own come, and Brad's come dripped down his face. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face off and then looked up at Brad. He was leaning against the door, dick still hanging out of his jeans.

"You know, Brad, if this is your idea of negative reinforcement you're probably going to be disappointed with the results." Brad looked down at him, half smiling, and shook his head as he stepped out of his jeans and tucked himself back into his black briefs.

Brad disappeared around the corner. Ray stared at the ceiling, letting his breathing return to normal. He was wondering how coming in his pants like an over-eager fifteen-year-old had been the best orgasm of his life when he was hit in the face with a pillow.

"I'm showering first," Brad said over the sound of water turning on, leaving Ray to set up the couch.

  


Ray woke up in the morning to the smell of coffee and rolled off the couch to find Brad sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and the newspaper. There was an empty bowl and mug across from him.

"Hungry?" Brad asked, once again acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Ray shrugged but grabbed the mug and filled it before sitting down and pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

"I need to go get the satellite hookup for the Blue Force Tracker, if you want to join me."

"Only if I can choose the music," Ray said around a mouthful of cereal. "I'm not going to be stuck in a car listening to that crap you like all day."

"No country. And chew with your mouth closed."

Ray took another bite, giving Brand an open mouth grin while he chewed. Brad rolled his eyes and turned back to the paper. "Did you have any sort of manners or discipline growing up? Or did you spend all your time running around barefoot on the piece of dirt you tried to pass off for a yard, using the car up on blocks in the front for a playground?"

Ray took a swig of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. "That's pretty much it, Brad. But you left out the part where my mother would wear a torn-up bathrobe all day and yell at us while she stood around barefoot on the porch. At least I didn't have parents who jammed a stick up my ass every night so I'd sit up straight at the dinner table."

"At least we had a dinner table." Brad's lips twitched into a wry smile as he continued to focus on the article in front of him. Ray turned back to his breakfast. It was business as usual.

  


A week later, Mister Potato Head was on a rampage that started at formation in the morning, continued through his afternoon tour of their motor pool, and finished with him reaming out Brad for Garza's untucked pant leg and the general slovenly appearance of his men and their work station.

When Sixta finally left, Ray watched Brad from where he was perched on the command vehicle, trying to unfuck the mess of cables coming out of their radios. Brad's lips were pressed together in a straight line and his eyes looked like they could kill. His movements were stiffer than usual, betraying the tension in his shoulders.

All Ray wanted to do what get that half-smile, the one he was thinking of as _his_ half-smile, on Brad's face.

Ray crossed the room to their workspace, catching Brad's eye as he stopped next to him. Then he dropped to his knees in front of Brad, his neck bent to the floor, and held the position for just longer than was necessary before rolling onto his back and sliding under the Humvee. A hand clamped around his ankle and he could feel Brad's fingers pressing in through his boot for a moment. Then it was gone and all he could feel for the rest of the day was the way Brad's hand wasn't there. The absence turned distracting. He grabbed the closest tool and hid under the Humvee pretending to work, increasingly antsy, until he could escape home.

He'd been watching TV while pacing around his room for half an hour when there was a knock on the door. Brad was leaning against the doorframe when he opened it; he focused on Ray instantly.

"Busy?"

Ray swallowed. "No."

Brad stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, locking it. He looked Ray up and down. "That was a nice trick you pulled earlier. Do you do it on command?"

Ray smirked up at him. "One way to find out."

Brad grinned, showing his teeth. "Knees." Ray sank to the floor slowly, keeping his eyes locked with Brad's. Brad reached out, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head down so he was looking at the floor. "Like before, Ray. Stay." Brad let go of his hair. His boots disappeared from Ray's line of sight as Brad walked around his and tugged his arms behind his back. Something was wrapped around them and when Brad dropped his arms unceremoniously, they stayed together.

"Christ, Brad, overkill much?"

"I had all afternoon to think about it this time. You won't be coming out of turn tonight, Ray." Brad's voice changed abruptly, softer. "You say stop, and I'll stop. Understand?" Ray nodded and Brad pushed his head down again, all traces of kindness gone from his speech. "Eyes on the floor."

"You realize I can't suck your cock from this angle, right? What exactly is your plan here?"

"I could watch some TV," Brad said, nonchalantly. Ray heard his bed creak as Brad settled on it. "What's on?"

"What the fuck, Brad? You've got me kneeling and ready over here and you're going to watch my TV?"

Brad crossed the room and then Ray could feel him kneeling behind him, knelt behind Ray putting one hand over his mouth. "I didn't ask your opinion, Ray. If you can't keep your mouth shut, I'll find a way to shut it for you." Brad pushed him down so he was sitting on his heels and his forehead was on the floor. Brad rubbed his hand down Ray's spine before he stopped touching Ray completely. "Time to learn some patience."

Ray stared at the floor. He was hungry, but incredibly glad he didn't order the pizza he'd been thinking about getting. There was guacamole in the fridge. It would feel amazing to stretch his arms out in front of him, roll his shoulders back, and start shoving it into his mouth. Brad was watching _Myth Busters_ , and it sounded like there were good explosions happening. He tried to mark time by the commercials, but he lost track. Then he was drifting. Everything was background noise. He was on the floor, and he was making Brad's bad day better.

The volume on the TV went up and then Brad pulled him back to his knees, lifting him out of his daze. "Good job, Ray." Brad walked around to stand in front of him, pulling out his hardening cock. "You did a real good job." He dragged his thumb across Ray's bottom lip until he opened his mouth. Brad dipped his thumb in, rubbing against the inside of his lip and then smearing Ray's saliva across his cheek. He slid his hand around the back of Ray's head and pulled him forward onto his cock. "Just like last time. Be quiet."

Ray adjusted, letting Brad slide all the way in. He struggled to stay upright as Brad thrust his hips forward over and over again, the grip Brad still had on the back of his head the only thing keeping him from falling over. He tried to relax into it and get his mind back to the place he'd been when he was curled up on the floor. But with Brad repeatedly jamming his cock into the roof of Ray's mouth and his balls hitting Ray's chin, he couldn't get the same disconnect. Instead, he gave himself over to each sensation--the taste of Brad on his tongue, the stretch of his jaw, the way his body moved in tandem to Brad's thrusts; he savored each one as Brad used him.

"Fuck, Ray," Brad practically whispered. "Your fucking _mouth_." Brad gripped Ray's shoulder, fingers digging into his back, and started thrusting harder and faster. Ray's eyes watered, and, just when he thought he couldn't take it any more, Brad whispered "fuck" again and came across his tongue.

Ray tried to swallow around Brad's cock that lay twitching in his mouth, but he could feel come dribbling down his chin.

Brad pulled back. He smeared his thumb through his come on Ray's cheek. "So messy."

Ray tipped his head back and looked up at Brad, the smile was on his face. He stuck his tongue out and licked his lips, reveling in his success.

Brad reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. He walked behind Ray to cut the tie around his wrists and rubbed his shoulders. "I assume you'd like to take care of that." Ray looked over his shoulder; Brad was staring down at his crotch. He smiled when he saw Ray looking at him. "Go ahead."

Ray carefully undid his jeans and pulled out his dick, sighing in relief when he wrapped his hand around it. He stroked up and down, spreading around the pre-come that was leaking out. Brad slid down behind him, one arm wrapped around his torso, holding him in place. Brad's other hand grabbed his hair again and pulled back so Ray was looking at the ceiling. "I don't have all day," Brad said into his ear. Ray quickened his strokes. Between Brad holding him still and watching him, it didn't take much before he came into his hand with a choked off grunt.

Brad's hands left his shoulders, but then a towel was dropped into his lap. He wiped his hands and face and took the hand Brad offered, letting himself be pulled up. His knees cracked, his shoulders ached.

"You okay?"

"Fuck, Brad." His throat was dry. "I'm gonna feel that for a few days."

"It was good though?" Brad sounded unsure for the first time since…ever.

"Did you miss the part where I came all over myself in approximately thirty-four seconds? It's the good kind of hurt, like when a girl bites your shoulder when she comes."

Brad smiled then, all tension leaving his face. "Only you, Ray."

"Only me what?"

Brad shook his head, still smiling, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Ray shrugged it off. "See you," Ray said as Brad closed the door behind him. He looked around his room. It looked exactly the same as before Brad showed up. _Myth Busters_ was still on. Ray shrugged his shoulders and went to look for the guacamole.

  


It had been a really long day full of people breaking shit Ray had to fix, officers coming through and fucking with their Humvees under the guise of inspection, and all of it happening on about three hours of sleep. Fucking Q-Tip and his fucking hamsters.

Ray was leaving, heading for the barracks with annoyance written on his face, when Brad's hand wrapped around his wrist. He stopped dead in his tracks. Brad spoke sternly and quietly, but maintained his distance. "You have half an hour to be at my apartment. Understood?"

Ray nodded once. Brad dropped his wrist and headed in the direction of the parking lot. Ray swallowed as he watched Brad walk away and felt some of the tension ease.

Ray changed quickly and was at Brad's door twenty-five minutes later. Brad pulled him in by his upper arm and marched him to the corner of his living room. Brad pushed Ray to his knees, angled his head down, and walked away without saying a word.

Ray could hear Brad moving around in the kitchen. He slumped so he was sitting on his heels and leaned forward so his forehead rested against the wall. He was almost completely asleep when Brad grabbed the neck of his t-shirt and pulled him back up on his knees. "Do this right, Ray, or you're not getting anything after." He felt Brad wrap some sort of cloth around his wrists and tie them together, then do the same to his ankles. He slid his fingers between the ties and Ray's skin. "This feel okay?"

"Oh yeah, Brad," Ray said, sarcastic. "There's nothing I like better than being hog-tied in a corner. It feels great."

"Ray," Brad said sharply, tugging on his hair.

"It's fine," he said, voice low.

Brad cupped the back of his head briefly, then he was gone again.

Ray tugged on the bonds. He was, in fact, hogtied. His arms were stretched and secured to his ankles, forcing his back straight. If he sat down again, he knew Brad would be back quickly. It didn't take long for his knees to start to ache on Brad's stupid, shiny hardwood floors, and for his shoulders to protest the way they were being pulled back. He stared at the wall in front of him and switched back and forth between going over the list of crap that had to be done before they got the go order and thinking about how tired he was.

He heard Brad walking down the hall and forced his back a little straighter. He kept his head turned toward the corner as he felt Brad stop behind him. Brad's hand cupped the back of his head again. "Ray," he said, quietly.

Ray let Brad push his head down so he was looking at the floor. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth that was emanating from Brad's hand resting on him. Everything flew out of his head except here and now and Brad and him. He was floating.

The next thing Ray knew Brad was tugging at the ties around his ankles and saying his name loudly. He twisted his head around; Brad was looking at him irritatedly. "What?" Ray asked, thoroughly confused.

"Didn't you hear me on the phone?" Ray looked at Brad blankly. "We're leaving tonight. Go. Be ready at 2200 hours. It's on." As soon as all the ties were undone, Brad was up and gone down the hall.

Ray sat on the floor, slumped against the wall, watching where Brad had disappeared. He was confused. Everything felt wrong. His dick was still half hard in his jeans. His head was buzzing. His joints tingled and ached from the position he'd been in. His legs were shaky and when he tried to stand the ground lurched.

He stumbled out to his car. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he was turning the ignition. He picked it up and grunted into the receiver. "Ray?" He recognized Gunny's voice.

He swallowed. "Yeah?" he managed to say. He only heard half of what Gunny said, but he at least replied in all the right places. He tossed his phone on the passenger seat and pulled out of Brad's driveway, narrowly missed hitting a car, and headed back to base.

  


Saying things were strained was an understatement. Ray didn't speak to Brad more than absolutely necessary for two weeks. The excitement of shipping out and getting ready for the possibility of imminent combat disguised some of the tension between them and explained away the rest.

They were in the middle of a training mission to storm the bridge on foot when the LT walked up behind Ray and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hit in the stomach, down for the count."

Ray dropped to the sand and tried to groan convincingly until it was safe to call for a casevac. Brad and Gabe picked him up off the ground and dumped him on top of their Humvee. Brad was clinical as he strapped him down, but each time Brad touched him, Ray felt his skin prickle. When he was done, Brad stuck two fingers under the straps to make sure they were loose enough, and Ray's stomach tightened into a knot. Ray closed his eyes and tried to focus on the engine rumbling beneath him, the feeling of being cooked by the sun, wondering who was driving _his_ Humvee; anything other than Brad tying him down.

The vehicle shuddered to a stop at the rendezvous point, and he heard the rest of the platoon hollering moto crap as they jumped out of their vehicles. "Gather round," he heard Gunny yell in the distance. He tried to twist his arms around to let himself up.

"Can you do that thing where you pop your shoulder out of its socket and get free?" Trombley asked. "'Cause that'd be really cool."

Ray could practically hear Brad rolling his eyes. "No one's dislocating anything. Go on, I'll let him up."

The voices of the rest of the guys faded into the distance, leaving him alone with Brad. Without the distractions, Ray had to fight to keep from getting lost in his head and flashing back to the mix of abandonment and desire he'd felt the last time Brad had untied him. It must have shown because Brad stopped what he was doing and studied Ray's face.

"You okay?" He sounded legitimately confused, which just made Ray mad.

Ray undid the strap around his legs and shoved himself off the hood. He glared at Brad.

"I guess I should be glad you didn't just leave me there. I thought that was SOP with you." He spit the words out and then turned on his heel and took off for where everyone was gathered around the command vehicle, not bothering to listen for Brad following behind him.

  


"Ray." Brad stepped out of the shadows, and Ray stopped dead in his tracks. Brad's voice went straight to his stomach. His body was in some sort of strange fight-or-flight no man's zone. Part of his brain was screaming at him to get the hell away from Brad and avoid getting fucked over again, the other part was telling him to stay and, well, certainly not _fight_.

Brad stepped closer. "Can I?"

Ray didn't answer, unsure as to what Brad was asking until Brad cupped Ray's head in his hand, his grip firm, his pinky finger brushing skin at the top of Ray's neck.

The second Brad touched him all thoughts of fleeing left his head and were replaced by the overwhelming desire to drop to his knees. He fought that instinct, focusing on the fact that they were surrounded by dozens of Marines. But he let Brad pull him off the path and into the shadows between two tents that Ray really hoped were unoccupied.

"We were interrupted, before. At home." Brad ducked his head slightly and looked Ray in the eye. His voice had a gravely edge to it, like he was just on the verge of losing control. "I had it all planned out. You were almost done, Ray. I was just about to come get you when my phone rang. Do you want to know what I was going to do?"

Ray dropped his head so his chin touched his chest. Brad's hand stayed firmly planted on his head.

"I was going to tip you onto your back, trap your hands under you. Then I was going to take out my dick and jerk off over your face while I pushed you into the ground with my foot on your chest. You would have been hard too at that point, thrusting your hips into the air, trying to get some relief. I like when you move around like that, Ray. Because that lets me know you like it. But I would have told you to stop anyway. You need to focus on me first. Would you have stopped when I told you to?"

"Yes," Ray breathed out, picturing it, imagining in, and even here, standing the middle of Camp fucking Matilda, fighting with himself to stay still.

"I know, because you're good, aren't you? You don't always do what you're told, unless it's just you and me." Brad's fingers moved in circles, scratching at Ray's scalp as he spoke. "You would have been desperate below me, nothing touching your cock, and I wouldn't even let you touch mine. And you like it when I stick my cock in your mouth don't you?"

Ray said nothing.

"Don't you?" he repeated, his voice permissive, urging Ray to speak.

"Yes," Ray panted.

"That's right, you fucking love it. Why do you love it so much?"

Ray squeezed his eyes shut. "I-" He couldn't make the words come out.

"Say it." Brad squeezed his neck.

Ray stopped thinking. "It makes you happy. It makes you happy when I do things for you."

Brad gentled his hand. "That's good, Ray. It does. And what I wanted that night was to see you, on the floor, with my come all over your face. You look so good with my come dripping down your chin. Every time I see it, I feel like I could come again, instantly." Brad's voice was even rougher now. "And just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, I was going to move my foot lower, right over your crotch, and let you rub yourself off until you came in your pants."

"Fuck." Ray was close to coming in his pants right now.

"It's not too late though." Brad leaned in so his lips were right next to Ray's ear. "It can still happen when we get home."

"Yes." Ray's voice was pleading.

"Good." Brad took his hand off Ray's neck but stayed standing close. Ray lifted his head to look Brad in the eye. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated. He was staring at Ray with his mouth hanging open letting him breathe heavily through it. In the dim light filtering to their place in the shadows, Ray could make out a red flush peeking out from under Brad's collar. He looked desperate and needy and _open_ in a way Ray had never seen him before. "And the way it ended last time," Brad added. "I won't let that happen again. Understood?"

Ray nodded.

"Okay." Brad dropped his hand by his side and stepped back from Ray. "Okay, good." Brad started to walk back to the main path. "I think the turret will be here soon."

Ray looked at him incredulously. "You think that, Brad," he said, falling into place next to Brad as they walked back to their tent.

  


Being trapped in a Humvee with Brad and two other Marines would have been hard enough; adding a reporter into the mix was definitely something that should have been covered by the Geneva Convention.

There was no touching in Iraq. Ray continued to push Brad's buttons intentionally -- from exhaustion, from boredom, because it was what he always did – but there was nothing to release the tension. Brad didn't throw Ray up against the side of the Humvee in the dark, and Ray didn't bow his head when Brad got irritated. They weren't stupid.

A combat jack while Brad very deliberately didn't stare at him from 100 meters away didn't cut it.

  


When he tore open one of the new MREs for the first time in this fucked up invasion, his eyes slid over to where Brad was walking away from Walt. He tried to see the part of Brad that had made him clean up these MREs when they were thrown around his room, the way Brad had sat in his chair and _watched_ him, eyes never leaving Ray as he moved around the room.

Ray didn't know exactly what he was trying to get by pouring a milkshake all over his face and standing in front of Brad – a look, a hand around his wrist, words whispered into his ear because he was a freaking girl, apparently. He wasn't trying to be told to be more like Trombley. That shit was messed up, and if it wouldn't have given too much away, he might have punched Brad right there.

He tried it again with ravioli. Brad ignored him entirely. Poke didn't. "Person, I've seen you eat like an adult human being before. I've even taken you to restaurants. When did you revert to some fucked-up combination of a two-year-old and a dog?"

Ray swiped the back of his hand across his chin. "Right about the time Brad started jerking off all over my face and telling me how much he liked it."

Poke shook his head. "Man, that's fucked up even for you," he said as he walked away.

Ray looked at Brad. He was staring at _Juggs_ like he wanted to kill Jasmine and all her friends.

  


"A word, Ray." Ray opened his eyes and looked up from his Ranger grave. Brad was standing over him and staring down.

Ray closed his eyes again. "Go away. I need my beauty sleep if you want me to look good for the Hajjis tomorrow."

"They'll have to make do. Come."

Ray opened his eyes to see Brad already walking away. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he muttered and scrambled out of his grave.

Brad didn't pull them into the shadows, or behind a berm; he stopped right in the open, moonlight just barely enough to see by, but out of earshot.

"I don't want to hear any more of your jokes about this." Brad gestured vaguely.

Ray stared at him. "Seriously? You're seriously upset about that? It was a joke, Brad. No one thought anything of it."

"We're in the middle of a group of Recon Marines. You keep at it and someone's going to figure something out." Brad's voice was stern, but with an edge of panic creeping in.

"Right," Ray said, short and clipped. "Understood." He turned and stomped back to his grave.

Ray wanted to punch Brad a little, again, when Brad came up to him the next day and told him he couldn't just stop talking to Brad completely.

  


He punched Rudy instead.

  


"You all right?"

Ray ignored Brad and walked inside before anyone else could see him cry like a pussy. He could hear Brad following him; usually he followed Brad. He was heading for his rack when Brad grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall in an alcove.

He turned his head to the side and felt the cement scrap against his cheek as Brad stepped so the side of his body was pressed against Ray and pushing him into the wall. He covered each of Ray's wrists with his hands and held them gently against the wall, relying on Ray's willingness, more than force, to hold them there. Without his hands free, Ray felt the last stray tears run down his cheek and dry into sticky trails. He focused on the feeling of being sandwiched between Brad's warmth and the cool wall, and his muscles relaxed for the first time since they'd crossed the berm into Iraq.

He went as limp as he could, letting Brad and the wall hold him up. His hair fluttered against his scalp slightly with each breath Brad took; he matched his own breathing to Brad's. Everything went fuzzy until all he was aware of was the way their chests raised and fell in tandem.

"Better?" Brad asked, eventually, letting go of Ray's wrists and stepping back.

The air against the line of sweat that had built up where Brad leaned against him was cool and shook him out of his reverie. He dug his fingers into the wall. "Brad," he choked out, voice breaking.

"I'm right here." Brad stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough that Ray could feel the heat coming off him again.

"I need-- You didn't--"

"I'm not here for me." Brad rested his hand on Ray's back, just under his neck. "You can stop now."

"Look, I," he turned around to face Brad. "I'm here for you." He could hear guys yelling outside, if anyone turned his head as he walked by, they were easily visible, but he reached for Brad's fly anyway.

Brad grabbed his wrist, stopping him. He glanced toward the hallway but quickly looked back at Ray, eyes searching. Ray was tempted to drop his gaze, but he kept his eyes locked with Brad's. "Okay," Brad said finally. He moved Ray's hands to his own crotch and turned Ray back to face the wall. "Get yourself off for me."

His hands left Ray, but Ray could hear him opening his trousers and exhaling in a hiss when he wrapped his hand around his cock. Ray hurried to do the same. One of Brad's hands clamped down on his shoulder. Ray braced himself against the wall with his free hand and caught the moan that threatened to escape before it could get farther than the back of his throat. "Shh," Brad chided, gently, and moved his hand from Ray's shoulder to his mouth. He brushed his fingers back and forth across Ray's lips before Ray opened his mouth and sucked two of them inside. Ray dropped his head, Brad's nails stabbing into the roof of his mouth before they adjusted. Then Ray started stroking himself as he swirled his tongue around Brad's fingers and watched Brad's hand move up and down his own cock.

He kept his eyes on Brad and moved his hand faster. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard on Brad's fingers, rewarded as he felt Brad jolt against him. Brad swiped his thumb across the head of his cock, rubbing around the precome that was leaking out. Ray did the same thing to himself. He matched Brad, stroke for stroke, until Brad came into his hand with a muffled groan. Ray closed his eyes and moved his hand faster until he came in spurts across the wall.

He tucked himself in his pants and turned and slid down the wall. He looked up at Brad, who threw a baby wipe into the corner and joined Ray on the floor. Ray tipped his head back against the wall and turned it toward Brad. Brad mirrored his position. They sat there looking at each other. Ray got caught in Brad's eyes, pulled toward him. His stomach knotted. He turned his head away.

"We have to talk." Brad's voice seemed unusually loud after the silence they'd been sitting in. "When we get home."

"Right." Ray nodded, voice falling.

Brad bumped his shoulder into Ray's. When Ray looked over he was grinning, big and bright.

"Right," Ray said again, returning the smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of Skittles. He tore it open, poured some into his hand, and passed the bag to Brad.

"Thanks." Brad poured the candy directly into his mouth. His fingers brushed Ray's as he placed the bag between them; he left his hand there. They were barely touching, but Ray could feel it through his whole body.

For now, it was enough.


End file.
